


Tremors

by ZeraHenna



Series: the Haze [6]
Category: The Haze - Fandom
Genre: Altered Mental States, Blood, Blood and Gore, F/F, Gen, Mental Anguish, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of Murder, Other, may or may bot be confusing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeraHenna/pseuds/ZeraHenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>NOT MINE, WRITTEN BY MY FRIEND, CRISSY, POSTED WITH PERMISSION</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>My hands are shaking and I<br/>Can not feel my heart but<br/>I know it's beating, bleeding<br/>On the hard-wood floors</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremors

My hands are shaking, just like the first time. The first time I wasn't looking down, I promised I wouldn't look down. You, of course, were looking more than down. You always are. There was too much of it. My hands were hot and sticky. It felt as if there were a million pennies in my mouth, so much copper. 

"You did good," you said finally after inspecting my work. I've never been a particularly neat person, and you know that, and I know that, and he knew that then too. 

"I may throw up," I muttered quietly, eyes determinedly fixed on the magnets winking at me from the fridge. Your eyes trailed up to my face and there was a sympathetic glint in the way you looked at me. But you weren't sorry, neither of us will ever be sorry. 

"You get used to it."

The air was filled with the static from the T.V. and the crackle of shattered glass. I had broken the apartment, for what was to be the first of many times.

"I'll make us tea," I said after another moment. 

"Good. I'll handle the body."

We exchanged a brief nod and I made eye contact with Them before twirling around to the kitchen. I could hear you cursing under your breath.

"Fat bastard. What did you do to her, huh?"

Too much. Too much. Too much blood.

The kettle was full of it. I stared at it blankly. When? How? It was easier to secure myself in the hotel and lock myself in a room.  
\-------------------------  
So my hands are shaking, but I'm looking down this time, forcing myself to see. Is this what I think it is? You're next to me, holding the white-hot poker.

"Did we just kill you?" you ask quietly, frowning at the crumpled Nothing on the floor.

"I think so. I'm not sure how she got out. She's supposed to wait for room service, but she was always greedy, always so hungry."

"You two are identical."

"I know," I say calmly. 

I didn't break the apartment this time. Neither did you. We've gotten good at this. This thing we do. The razor straight row of pencils on the desk haven't moved at all. 

We can never avoid the blood, no matter what we do. It clings to us, pulls at us, draws to us. Blood always finds solace in its friends. So we comfort and nurture the stains, pools and droplets. 

"Can we watch T.V. now?" I ask finally, glancing over at the remote.

"Yeah. We'll take of you later."

The poker is tossed to the side. We don't notice the smoke or the steadily rising flames around us. We burn every day. This is no different.

**Author's Note:**

> On the hard-wood floors, yeah  
> You know it's me 'cause I leave a trail  
> Hands on my feet, you  
> Pull me from the insanity, oh  
> I must have done it again, huh?  
> Sorry
> 
> ~Zera Henna


End file.
